A Wolf and His Boy
by Nightgem
Summary: A woman from the alienage comes to Hawke with a request: save a little boy from his own mind. Finding herself unsuitable for the task, she passes it along to the one man who might need saving even more. Slight F!Hawke/Fenris, spans both Act II and III.
1. A Meeting

"I need your help, Fenris."

Though not impossible, there was a pause after those words, a pause in which Fenris had to take a moment to process what had just been spoken. After two years acquainted, the elf had difficulty picturing any situation where Shyra Hawke required help desperately enough to actually ask for it.

"What is it?" he questioned, his expression serious. Hawke had asked him to meet her in the Hanged Man just the day before, during a time when their companions were notably absent from the establishment. Yet she did not appear to need discretion; it was the middle of the day and she arrived in her usual gear (which was hardly inconspicuous), taking no time to check for followers or eavesdroppers. Not that Hawke was known for her prudence.

"Well…" Hawke trailed off, pursing her pale pink lips as she searched for the words. Her dark blue eyes clouded with concern and a touch of something Fenris couldn't read. It was enough to make him lean forward in his seat, the drink he had ordered untouched and forgotten on the table that stood between them. "There's a boy," she finally began, "a boy from the alienage. I see him occasionally when I visit Merrill." She took a second then to look at Fenris, gauging his expression, and was rewarded with an utterly confused and somewhat judgmental stare. Before he could formulate anymore assumptions, she rushed to continue, "Oh, stop it. That is not where this is going. He's a child, no older than 13."

"Is he in some sort of danger?" Fenris asked uncertainly. He was still completely in the dark as to where he came into the equation.

Hawke shook her head. "No, no. Not of the physical sort, at least. But until recently, he was a victim of blood mages." Fenris felt his jaw clench automatically, his gaze narrowing into slits. Even children weren't safe from those creatures.

"He is a victim still, no doubt," Fenris muttered quietly, more venom in his words than he had perhaps intended. But magic did not relent its grip as easily as Hawke acted it did.

"Yes," Hawke agreed, her voice characteristically empathetic. Fenris had noticed in the last two years Hawke's unusual kindness towards children, kindness she normally only reserved for the people who had earned her trust in the bloodiest of ways, but he wasn't sure if such empathy was directed this time at the child or at himself. "They toyed with his mind before the Templars found them. They were executed of course, but the boy lives in a world no one seems to understand. He won't so much as give his name to people for fear they will somehow use it against him. And I want you to help with that."

Fenris had been wondering for some time where this was going, but now he merely assumed it was a joke. Him, help a psychologically disturbed child? He solved his own problems with blood and drink, barely. The elf didn't bother to voice this, knowing full well everything was clearly written on his face.

"Think about it. You two are a lot alike," she explained. "Both of you were hurt by magic. Both of you are afraid of being found by it again. Seeing someone strong like you in a similar situation to his might help him."

Fenris didn't like this. His 'situation', as she called it, was his entire life. It was just as painful to relive as it was private to discuss, and the thought of him being an example to anybody made him uncomfortable.

"When did you start crusading for elven children?" Fenris countered, though it was half-hearted. Hawke was busy enough as it was without getting involved in every sad story in Low Town, but that usually didn't stop her.

"You'll understand when you meet him. I'm not asking you to perform a miracle. Just speak with him once, then you can decide for yourself. Will you at least give it a try?"

Hawke turned the full power of her eyes on him then, the sort of gaze that saw right through him and made anyone who received it fall under her influence. Fenris knew he had lost, and begrudgingly muttered, "I'll go tomorrow." Hawke's triumphant smirk forced him to add, "But I make no promises beyond that." She waved him off and ordered another drink.

Tomorrow came faster than Fenris would have liked. It was only fear of retribution that compelled his arduous walk into Low Town that next morning. Not that Hawke would even be there to see he made good on his promise, as she was tending to business outside Kirkwall. As a result, it was Merrill who greeted him at the entrance of the alienage, obviously also roped into assistance by their persuasive companion. Her usual twitchy smile attempted to be welcoming, but Fenris' foul mood was having none of the magic-user's pleasantries.

"Where's the boy?" he asked over Merrill's heavily accented 'good morning.' Her smile faded, replaced by typical lines of worry.

"Over by the Tree," she revealed, pointing at the sacred Vhenadahl. "Be kind to him, Fenris, as best you can." It was clear by her tone she had no more comprehension of Hawke's request, or faith in Fenris, than he did himself. Fenris nodded briskly before heading towards the tree without delay. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could get away.

On the opposite side of the trunk from the entrance, a crouched figure sat facing the tree. His hair was golden-blonde and his skin unusually pale. Even bent down it was clear he was small: thin, but not entirely frail. The boy didn't seem to notice Fenris as he came around the tree, intent on whatever it was he was doing. Which looked quite a bit like absolutely nothing to Fenris. He was just sitting there, staring straight ahead as if in a staring contest with the trunk. Awkwardly and without much of a plan, Fenris sat down next to the boy.

"Hello," he greeted, receiving no hint the boy even knew he was there. "My name is Fenris. Hawke asked me to speak with you." He had debated on whether revealing this information was counterproductive, but it was either that or seem like a completely random stranger.

"Hello yourself," the boy replied, monotone. His voice was less childlike than Fenris had expected, which led him to believe that Hawke hadn't overestimated his age like Fenris had originally thought. He didn't seem remotely surprised or suspicious that Fenris was suddenly speaking to him, and no adult came rushing over to question Fenris' motives. The older elf wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "Fenris," the boy suddenly added, as if testing out the name.

"Yes," he confirmed uncomfortably, like it was a question being asked. There was a pause in which neither of them said a word, and Fenris again wondered why he had agreed to this. He had no idea how to speak with children, let alone the troubled sort as this one apparently was. The awkward silence stretched on, until Fenris, desperate to shake this impending feeling of failure, attempted to grasp at straws by asking, "What are you doing over here?"

"Vhenadahl is telling a story," the boy explained. "No one noticed but me."

Fenris frowned. "What is Vhenadahl saying?" he questioned. Sometimes hearing voices was a sign of demonic possession. Hawke hadn't told him if this boy had magic, but it was possible, especially if he had been targeted by blood mages.

"It depends," the smaller elf replied. "It tells me about the days it started failing, when People started to forget. But it would tell you something different, wouldn't it? Look." The boy turned his head to look at Fenris then, and for the first time, Fenris saw his face.

His eyes were made of lyrium. Despite the irrationality of it, that was Fenris' first impression. He noticed the fresh scar along the boy's cheek, a product of a ring most likely, and the hollowed look of someone underfed, but the details barely registered. The boy's eyes consumed his face with their large size, and the color was a blue Fenris had never seen on a person before, almost unnatural. The hue itself was a light turquoise, just on the edge of being considered pale. But they had a brightness to them that made them look as if they glowed. As if an entire city filled with light existed behind them. Fenris found he could only hold the boy's gaze for but a moment before he had to look away. Such young eyes holding such intensity was unsettling.

"Look at it," the boy directed, pulling Fenris back into their failing conversation. After a pause, Fenris did as he was told, if only to escape looking at the boy's gaze again. "What does it tell you?"

"I don't hear-" Fenris started immediately, but suddenly stopped himself as something dawned on him. Why, if he was meant to hear something, did the boy insist that he look? Deciding to give it a try, Fenris turned his eyes on the bark of the tree and attempted to unlock its secrets. The age of it was apparent in the lines and patterns that stretched far above their heads. Shadows flickered slightly from the sun, filtered by the branches. It was healthy, exuberating life despite its surroundings. Fenris wasn't sure he'd ever looked at any tree so closely.

"It… has seen quite a bit of suffering in its time," Fenris started slowly, filled with unsure hesitancy. Despite having a mere child as his audience, he still felt a little foolish. "But, it continues to live on. I suppose." Not exactly one of Varric's epic tales, but it was the best he could do.

The boy nodded thoughtfully. "It does, doesn't it? Why do you think it does that?" He tilted his head slightly as he looked up at Fenris with the question in his gaze even more so than on his lips.

"As opposed to what alternative? Death?" Fenris asked, glancing over at the boy with a frown.

"But it's stuck here. It can't ever do anything but see sad things. Would you want to keep growing if you knew you were trapped forever?" The boy's expression had turned troubled, as if the tree's plight were real. Fenris had the distinct impression they weren't really talking about Vhenadahl anymore, and he wasn't sure how to answer. The question sparked something in him that was too close for comfort.

"It's possible it won't always be so," the older elf answered after a moment. "Perhaps it continues to live because it hopes to see happier times. It wouldn't be trapped then."

The boy frowned for a moment, his lyrium eyes studying the tree as if he had missed something. Finally, he sighed and said, "It won't tell me that."

"One day it will." Fenris wasn't sure where all these reassuring words were coming from. Until Denarius was dead, he wouldn't feel any freer than that tree. But he had had the hope to escape, at least. It seemed whatever plagued this boy did so thoroughly, giving him little room to expect any relief. It was an all too familiar sentiment to Fenris; he spent most of his life feeling that way.

Deep in thought, the boy did not seem inclined to say anything more, so Fenris decided that was enough for today.

"I'll come back another time, if you'd like," Fenris offered, uncrossing his legs and standing. He wasn't entirely sure when he had decided on revisiting, or why for that matter, but there was no denying he did.

"If you'd like," the boy repeated without inflection. Fenris took that as a yes and nodded, before turning around to leave. As he did, he heard in almost a whisper behind him, "Myrin. I'm Myrin." Fenris turned his head just enough to give the boy, Myrin, a confirmation he had heard before facing front and exiting the alienage.


	2. See the Good Things

Hawke was concerned. Fenris could tell by the way she let her eyes wander about the coastline, glancing at him only when she thought he wasn't looking. Anders too looked uncomfortable, and Fenris understood perfectly why. Needless to say, it wasn't because he was concerned.

"You look like you're in pain," Hawke tried finally after a few minutes of silent walking. "If you'd just let Anders-"

"No," Fenris cut in firmly. Bandits had caught them by surprise on their way back from hunting down a slaver outpost off the Wounded Coast, an archer landing a shot in the elf's shoulder before he'd even heard the snap of a bowstring. It wasn't the worst wound he'd ever received by any means, and hardly life threatening, but the area it was located caused a fair amount of discomfort every time he moved. Still, he refused that abomination's sorcery going anywhere near him. Bethany was the only mage he even faintly trusted, and she had been in the Circle now for over a year.

"Then at least come back to the house and let me patch you up," Hawke offered kindly. Anders looked at her a little reproachfully, as if he had some kind of say in the matter, making Fenris more irritated than he wanted to be about such a thing.

"The bleeding has already slowed; it's fine," Fenris assured her, the tone of his voice clearly indicating she needed to drop the conversation. Anders glared at him, opening his mouth to chastise him for speaking to Hawke that way, but she shook her head at him and he let it die. Fenris had almost been hoping he would ignore her; any excuse to give that mage what he had deserved since the day they met.

By the time Fenris made it back to the mansion, his bad mood had only grown. After washing the blood off his skin and hair, he dressed the wound the best he could on his own. Minutes of struggling with the bandages had him regretting his refusal of Hawke's offer, but the thought of her getting so close to him was... disconcerting. He was used to treating his own injuries anyway.

Once all the traces of their excursion were dealt with, Fenris found himself unwilling to sit alone in the overly large house, where ghosts of the past could find him. Instead of drinking his sour mood away, he opted to leave the mansion and wander the streets of Kirkwall, ambling through High Town straight into Low Town, past the Hanged Man and the stands set up along the walls. The chatter of the Marchers that usually had him gritting his teeth hardly registered, and before he even realized, he had wandered right into the alienage.

Fenris considered turning around then and making his way back home, but he didn't. Instead, he moved towards the Sacred Tree, looking for a shock of blonde hair and a small frame. He wasn't there, though Fenris hadn't really expected differently. Without much more effort, he turned back towards the exit into Low Town, but was stopped midstep by a voice coming from a small house to his left.

"Fenris?" Myrin's head poked out the doorway of what Fenris assumed was his home. Once the boy was sure what he saw was true, he scurried out and shut the door behind him, looking in all directions before finally rushing over to the older elf. "I didn't really think you'd come back," Myrin admitted, staring at Fenris curiously.

"This time, my word was good," Fenris replied, choosing to omit the fact that this was actually an unplanned trip. Myrin nodded and motioned for Fenris to follow him over to the same spot by the tree they sat during their last meeting. This time, however, Myrin sat facing Fenris instead of the tree, crossing his legs and looking at Fenris expectantly. Fenris felt the gaze of several elven residents on them, but he supposed that was only to be expected.

"I was thinking about what you said before. I like your eyes," Myrin suddenly announced, all without so much as a change in tone. He didn't sound like a Tranquil, exactly, but he wasn't far off. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. "They see good things," Myrin offered as way of an explanation.

Fenris laughed then, but it was a bitter sound even to his own ears. "Not always," he corrected, his foul mood hardly improved. What had he hoped to accomplish by coming here?

"That's the point," Myrin continued, undeterred. "There are bad things right in front of them, but they still see good things. See?" Fenris shook his head, trying but failing to fully understand what the boy was trying to convey. Myrin sighed, the first hint of emotion Fenris has ever heard from him. "No one ever does."

Fenris could easily see how that was the case. Myrin had an interesting manor of speech, both childlike and yet conceptually beyond his years. Fenris wondered what he had been like before the blood mages had found him.

"Perhaps you could teach me to see," Fenris suggested. He realized just after he spoke the implication in those words, a near-promise of future visits. He supposed a few more were harmless, though he doubted he was helping the boy in any capacity. Fenris wasn't even sure what to help him with. Besides the odd speech, Myrin seemed more competent than most adults, let alone someone as young as him.

"Maybe," Myrin replied, letting the thought sit with him a moment. Then, for the first time that Fenris had seen, he smiled. His bright eyes squinted when he grinned, as if he was putting as much effort as he could into that smile, and Fenris couldn't help but smile at that too, though just barely. As quickly as Myrin's smile came however, it was gone, a mere flash on his face.

"You're hurt," Myrin remarked, reaching out and pointing at Fenris' shoulder. Fenris had no idea how the boy could have known, hidden as the injury was, but he nodded, guessing he had subconsciously favored his other side in some way.

"It isn't severe," Fenris assured the boy, but he didn't look convinced. Fenris wondered how Myrin could be so expressive on his face and yet speak as if he hadn't an emotion in his body. "Truly. It's already beginning to heal."

"Did you go to a healer?" Myrin asked, something unrecognizable in his eyes now. Whatever it was, it troubled Fenris, feeling as if the unknown expression didn't belong on his face.

"No," Fenris replied, "I'd rather mend on my own than with the aid of magic."

The boy looked at him sharply and questioned, "Why is that?" Fenris frowned, wondering if getting that close to the topic of magic was going to upset the lad. He certainly looked as if he were on the verge of something.

But Fenris saw no reason to cease the conversation, so he answered honestly, "Mages can't be trusted. Even healers, who say they work for the good of others, will in the end only do what suits their needs." He hadn't meant to put such contempt in his tone for fear of startling the child, but it was unavoidable. He looked at Myrin, gauging his reaction. Luckily, Myrin merely looked thoughtful, processing before speaking. Fenris was starting to notice he did that fairly often, which he found an admirable trait.

Fenris waited a long while for Myrin to speak, but the boy never did. He was deep in thought though, so Fenris never disturbed him by questioning him further. He merely let the boy sit in silence, contemplative. It gave him a moment to survey their surroundings for a bit, which he hadn't paid much attention to before. The sun, he realized, was almost set, twilight settling nicely into the alienage. Merchants, the few there were, had begun closing up their stands, and most children were either already inside or heading on their way. A city was never quiet exactly, but this was the time just before the people of the night began crawling their way out of the woodwork, and a certain peace seemed to blanket even Low Town. Though he'd never really stopped to consider it before, Fenris was for the first time conscious that this was his favorite time of day in Kirkwall.

Again Fenris looked to Myrin, who seemed no more ready to speak than he had been before. Neither did he seem aware of the time, or the dark night that was quickly approaching. Fenris frowned slightly, weighing the need to get home versus giving the boy time to think about whatever it was he needed to think about. Finally, he decided he'd have to break the quiet.

"It's getting late," he remarked, his voice sounding odd to his ears after the silence. "You should return home before the streets turn dangerous."

Myrin looked at him, startled, clearly having forgotten Fenris was there entirely. It was almost funny. "Everything's dangerous," Myrin replied, but not argumentatively, and he wasted no time in uncrossing his legs and standing.

"Some things more so than others," Fenris corrected, giving him a pointed look. He didn't want the boy to get the idea that after going through one bad experience, he could handle all of them. Bandits would rip a small elf like Myrin apart before he made it out of the alienage.

"What about you?" Myrin asked, tilting his head as they walked towards Myrin's home. Fenris couldn't help but smile at that.

"Especially me," he responded. Myrin nodded seriously, but he hardly looked intimidated. He never had been afraid of Fenris, he noticed, wholly unlike most people he met for the first time. Well, besides people like Hawke who ogres didn't faze.

When they reached Myrin's door, he hesitated before opening it. His blonde hair covered his eyes almost shyly as he asked, "So, you'll visit again?"

"If you want me to," Fenris promised, finding himself smiling for the third time that evening. His bad mood from earlier had been all but forgotten. Myrin merely nodded and shuffled into his house, shutting the door before Fenris even glimpsed the inside.


End file.
